


i just want your extra time and your (kiss)

by problematic_pleasures



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: 4+1, Canon compliant/Semi-au, Feelings, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Smut, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 17:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8905633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematic_pleasures/pseuds/problematic_pleasures
Summary: They don’t kiss, it’s just… not something they do. 
Four times they almost kiss--one time they finally do.





	

**Author's Note:**

> was struck with this random idea that they never kiss, despite being sexually involved & basically being together, as a couple. finally got it written out, and i'm really pleased with how this came together. not beta'd, so all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> hope you guys enjoy it!

They don’t kiss, it’s just… _not_ something they do.

They’ve never talked about it, it’s not a rule either one of them laid out before this all got started. It’s just not a thing, for them. They come close, _god_ do they come close. Perilously so, lips barely an inch apart as they roll in the sheets or when they slip into an empty supply closet. Moments where they both pause, mornings almost painfully domestic where it seems like one might lean over for a delicate brush of mouths. Late nights facing one another under the covers, nose to nose and all it takes is for one of them to lean in, tilt their head ever slightly—but they never do.

They don’t kiss. Ever.

 

 

 

**_…one_ **

Carl clings to the back of the chair like his life depends on it—a traitorous, irritating voice in the back of his head tells him it nearly does, what with this deal he’s struck up with Negan. He pushes the thoughts away and does his best to direct all his focus on the feeling of Negan’s hand on his cock, the glide of their pricks together. Carl shivers and rolls his hips into Negan’s touch, his breathe hitches as a particularly bright spark of lust floods through his body. The feeling is so different from when he touches himself, nothing like he imagined but _so fucking good_.

“Still with me?” Negan grunts as he moves his hand faster.

Words die on Carl’s lips. He looks at Negan carefully, takes in all the details of the older man’s face. He notes the soft crinkle of crows feet at the corner of Negan’s eyes. He briefly loses himself in the lust-warm brown of Negan’s gaze, before forcing himself to look away. Instead, he settles on the almost artful salt-and-pepper construction of Negan’s beard, the way it frames his face and hides laugh lines but not the downward turn of a scowl.

Finally, Carl’s attention falls to Negan’s lips, wet and battered, chapped and almost inviting. Carl lets out a shuddering exhale and tilts his head. His hair falls and brushes against the sides of Negan’s face, evoking a shiver from the older man. Carl licks his lips, heart hammering, as he focuses on the slight part of Negan’s lips. He leans in while Negan’s eyes are closed, while he’s vulnerable, drinks in Negan’s own moans—so close, he could just _do it_ —

The door slams open with a shout, and Carl buries his blush-burning face in the crook of Negan’s neck instead. He stays there, hunched over his lover’s body while Negan and the Savior bicker. Even after they’re alone once more, he doesn’t try again. He doesn’t look at Negan’s face too closely and he doesn’t say a word except to moan.

Negan doesn’t seem to mind.

 

 

**_…two_ **

The kid is so fuckin’ _loud_ , pretty soon the whole damn neighborhood will be awake.

Negan could shut him up any number of ways—a couple fingers in that pretty little mouth, make the kid suckle like a good boy. Or Negan could curl his hand around Carl’s throat, feel bones bend under his touch and Carl’s jack-hammering pulse. Hell, he could even flip the kid over and shove him face first into the pillows, at least that’d muffle things a bit.

He could kiss Carl—lay waste to those pretty, plump, wet and obscene lips, inhale every moan and gasp and cry. He could smother Carl in a kiss so lewd and filthy the boy would probably come on the spot. Could kiss him sweet and tender like, throw him off and leave him guessing. Could kiss every inch of this boy’s body—nearly has already—begin and end with Carl’s lips.

Negan doesn’t, though. Carl’s eyes are closed, his hair is spread across the pillow in soft curls, his mouth is open and panting and his tongue just barely peeks out. Negan could, could kiss him and make him like it, make him take it the way Carl is taking his cock right now.

He doesn’t, though. He fucks Carl fast and hard until they both come. Then, he parades Carl’s hickey-riddled body through Alexandria to take his mind off the idea of kissing this kid senseless.

 

 

**_…three_ **

It’s cliché, plain and simple.

“C’mon kid, you’re still shit at depth perception.” Negan’s tone leaves no room for argument, as does the way he takes Carl by the arm and steers him outside. Not that Carl would argue, or resist, not anymore. Between the sex, the bartering, the survival—they’ve reached a mostly even ground. It’s not quite a perfect give and take, but it’s decent.

Carl shrugs out of Negan’s grip once they hit the blisteringly hot outside air and Negan lets him. With a jerky nod, Negan leads Carl to the outskirts of the Sanctuary. There’s no groan of walkers in the distance, for once, just the rustle of trees in the wind. They keep walking until Carl’s shirt is clinging to him with sweat, until they’re so far from camp that it’s nearly dead silent around them.

“Gonna teach you how to shoot.”

Carl raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “I already know how to shoot.”

“Kid,” Negan grins, wide and a little goofy-looking. “I saw the look of your room, you can’t throw a dart to save your life right now.”

“Took down two of your men, didn’t I?” Carl pulls out the pistol at his hip and loads it, cocks it, doesn’t aim it quite yet.

“Firing like off like an uncorked bottle o’wine with a wicked machine gun ain’t the same as taking aim and focusing on a single target.”

Carl scowls, but nods. “Fine.”

Negan nods happily. “Put it up,” he demands. Carl obeys, falling into the familiar pose. It’s muscle memory, and he knows he could make a shot well-enough. But when he tries to focus on the spot in front of them—a chipped mark on a withering tree—he also knows he’s got a good chance of being off by a mile. He lets Negan talk him through it, lets the older man’s voice sooth him, a rumbling purr of words.

He doesn’t startle when Negan crowds behind him, rather he relaxes into the touch. One of Negan’s hands helps aim Carl’s shot, the other pointing out toward the target.

“Now, see,” and he keeps talking, words wise but dulling to a drone in Carl’s ears. Instead of listening, he tilts his head just slightly and watches Negan talk. He watches the shape of Negan’s lips around every word, the way his mouth curls as he must’ve made a joke. It’s only then that Negan realizes he’s being watched (or maybe, it’s only then that he decides to acknowledge it), and he huffs. “Kid.”

Carl does startle that time and his gaze drops to Negan’s lips so blatantly it’s almost painful. A tense silence blooms between them, neither moving. Eventually, Negan turns away and only starts speaking once Carl is looking at the target again.

“Now, I’m only gonna repeat myself once,” Negan says by way of warning.

The moment passes, and by the end of the day Carl has nearly forgotten it, too swept up with being pleased at his own progress.

 

 

**_…four_ **

Negan storms through his men, shoves at them until the crowd parts enough to see his end goal—Carl, bloodied and battered and beaten, but still standing. Granted, the poor kid is swaying on his feet, looks dead-tired, but Negan will take that over _actually_ dead any day. He keeps pushing through and even lets Lucille drop to the ground at his feet once he finally reaches Carl.

Carl, who looks up so slowly. He blinks his single eye and Negan swallows uneasily at the exhaustion in the gaze. He gently brushes Carl’s hair back, mindful of the scrapes littering the poor boy’s face. Carl’s face is blotches of red and black with bruises that will yellow and then fade in time. His shirts are torn, as are the knees of his pants, and he’s doused in droplets of drying blood like a fucked-up kind of confetti. His hands hand limp at his sides though his grip on his guns is white-knuckled.

A whole mess of contrasts—or really, just a whole mess in general.

Negan’s mouth waters and his chest burns with the urge to kiss Carl. He wants to feel his younger lover breathing, wants to swallow any protests straight from Carl’s lips; he wants to taste the copper of Carl’s blood seeping from a split lip and a tooth knocked loose. He wants to sweep Carl up in a filthy, open-mouthed kiss and show all the morons around them exactly who Carl belongs to.

Carl looks up at him, sleepy and wavering. His lips part gently, almost like an invitation. He sighs as he reaches out. He drops his guns to grip at Negan’s jacket instead, for support. He pulls himself closer to Negan—Negan, who finds himself frozen, stock-still with the desire to kiss Carl, _finally_.

He doesn’t, though. Tells himself it’s not because he’s scared, but because Carl passes out. Which is true, the kid does, faints right into Negan’s arms. Negan tells himself it’d be ridiculous to kiss Carl while the kid’s not even conscious. By the time he’s got Carl scooped up in his arms and he’s making his way back to their shared quarters, Negan has convinced himself it’s a ridiculous idea altogether.

When he wakes up, Carl doesn’t say anything.

 

 

 

**_…five_ **

It’s been such a long day.

They walk together, back to their room, in silence. Trudge, more like it, slopping through mud and rain and blood. Bodies are still everywhere, not yet carted off, and they help one another to stagger around the corpses. Carl’s hair is matted and dripping; it clings to his face and neck and makes him shiver, until Negan wraps an arm around him. The warmth is minimal, but good. Starts from the core and blooms outward, until by the time they’re back to their room both are stripping down to their underwear.

They both pause, then strip out of those too. Carl reaches out and grabs Negan’s biceps, reassured by the feel of skin just as clammy as his own. Negan looks down at him, curious, then jerks his head toward the bed. Carl follows, his fingertips sliding down damn skin until he can link his hand with Negan’s. They crawl into bed slowly, hands separating only to land on the other’s body as soon as possible.

They’re still scraped up, wounds bleeding sluggishly when they pull the skin too taut, but neither cares enough to bother with bandages.

“We’re getting the bed wet,” Carl murmurs once they’ve settled. He says it because his hair is largely to blame, wet and soft and soaking into the pillows.

Negan shrugs with his lips turning up at the corners.

“We’ll need to change the sheets.” Carl worms closer and lays a hand on Negan’s chest; under his palm he feels the beat of his lover’s heart. Carl closes his eyes and lets the rhythm flood through him. “Fuck,” Carl whispers eventually. His head swims with pain and memories of the past few hours—so much blood, death, guts. So many walkers, friends, and enemies killed alike. Faces flash in Carl’s mind until he blinks them away.

He doesn’t realize how close he is until Negan’s breath is on his face, arms around his body to hold him still. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Negan kisses at the tear tracks with chapped lips. Carl shudders and leans into the touch.

“Negan,” he breathes. He brings shaking hands up to cup Negan’s neck, angles his head just right.

Negan just nods and works his way with delicate kisses across Carl’s cheek until finally their lips little more than a sliver apart. “You sure, kid?” He murmurs. “Ain’t no going’ back after this.”

Carl gives a minute shake of his head. “There’s never been any going back, not for a long fuckin’ time.” He surges forward and finally— _finally_ their lips come together. There’s no sparks, or fireworks, nothing quite so dramatic. But it’s hot and good and perfect, so much better than the past few hours, or the past few days. It’s dizzying in its intensity, takes Carl’s breath away and leaves Negan’s lungs burning.

They pull back long enough to gasp for air before they kiss again—and again, and again, and again, until their lips hurt, sensitive and overwhelmed. They kiss until snores rather than moans are thrumming in their chests; they kiss until their eyes are too heavy to stay open, bodies stiff and sinking into sleep.

“Fuck, kid, Negan eventually says. They’re both on the cusp, nearly tumbling into dreams. Words linger at the tip of Negan’s tongue, and his insides churn with the war of whether to speak to stay silent.

After a while, Negan opens his mouth only to have Carl shush him. Instead, Carl responds to the unspoken words—

“I know.”

Negan laughs, “yeah?”

“Yeah.” He kisses Negan one more time, lingering and gentle. “Get some sleep.”

 

 

Together, they do.

**Author's Note:**

> marked underage because carl can be interpreted as 17yo, or older if you prefer.


End file.
